


Inside the Forbidden Subconscious

by Kisuru



Category: Naruto
Genre: Autumn, Canon Universe, Dubious Consent, Frottage, Genjutsu, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Psychological Horror, Trick or Treat: Trick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-07-17 07:00:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16090454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisuru/pseuds/Kisuru
Summary: All Itachi wants is to follow Sasuke just to be close to him for a while. Once Sasuke realizes he is following him, though, Itachi decides a Tsukuyomi is the best solution. But Itachi doesn't expect the tables will turn on him and the Tsukuyomi has ideas of its own.





	Inside the Forbidden Subconscious

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lovejoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovejoy/gifts).



The leaves danced in the cool wind. Swirls of vibrant red and orange fluttered, leaving their branches a worn skeleton, briefly obscuring the sight of his brother leaping before him.  
  
Every time Itachi landed on a branch, the tree shivered. Creaked and hissed. The tossed trail of leaves in Sasuke’s wake fascinated him. The Sharingan caught each sway and cast of shadow that fell from dim autumn sunlight.  
  
The color of twilight set on the horizon.  
  
Later, he would brush off Kisame’s implication he knew he was preoccupied to heed orders and travel to the next location that day – but Itachi couldn’t have helped his need to see him after months, catching wind he passed through the off-the-map village for unknown reasons, unaware Itachi was within reach.  
  
Sasuke wasn’t stopping.  
  
This had gone on for hours.  
  
He wasn’t sure where they exactly were. In most respects, oversight was unlike him.  
  
Itachi hadn’t noticed how long had passed that he enjoyed getting a close-up view of his little brother’s profile after their distance.  
  
In his eyes, Sasuke was irresistible and —  
  
The spark of lightning from a shuriken sizzled and sliced the air. Springing, Itachi dodged. A fleet of leaves covered his leap, the shuriken’s blades blasting the fragile stems to a crisp.  
  
A decent attempt, actually. Sasuke glowered in his direction and turned. Had he made an unforeseen noise? Perhaps he had gradually become careless in his presence. Engrossed in the way Sasuke’s hair blew in the breeze and his rigid stance. Itachi wasn’t willing to let the moment slip through his fingers. He could easily retreat, but he couldn’t bring himself to go (Sasuke was _there_ ), and there was one method to make sure this lasted for them.  
  
Dispelling the cast of genjutsu which cloaked him, Itachi stood several feet parallel to him. Sasuke’s jaw clenched, and his chest and shoulders tightened. He was about to take the next step after making a decision; still, Itachi was faster in that split second to retaliate.  
  
Red reflected in Sasuke’s eyes.  
  
The pull of the Tsukuyomi captured them.  


* * *

  
The brilliant moonlight shone down on them through the window. Glimpses of the bloody light were endlessly headache inducing, and Sasuke’s eyes watered, chest heaving.  
  
No, no – anything but this – not this again!  
  
The katana cleaved downwards and whistled in his ears. The river of grey flowed at their feet and stained the tatami mat over and over. Their parents had not screamed, but Itachi added the bloodcurdling pleas for their lives.  
  
Sasuke’s eyes shimmered and widened, body locking under the sheer anxiety and stress. He fell to his knees and dug his nails into his palms until blood dripped down his fingers. He wanted to wring the life out of his brother, but he couldn’t bring himself to move, the sight of their discarded bodies too much.  
  
It had been a quarter of a day within the Tsukuyomi. While that scraped the surface of previous damage he had inflicted, Sasuke had to wake up on his own time; he couldn’t risk psychologically scarring him profusely. At any rate, Itachi had successfully made his point.  
  
Itachi reached back to his outer conscious. He tapped into the ring of power surrounding the Sharingan, willing for it to cease. When the world came back into focus, he would see the looming darkness and sea of autumn color.  
  
The dark sky of the Tsukuyomi didn’t stir.  
  
He blinked. To his shock he hesitated. Itachi didn’t allow anything to ruffle him, but there was no release, and the Tsukuyomi didn’t dissolve. The blazing stream of genjutsu still steadily burned at the back of his eyes and projected the images of the inner world.  
  
Why wasn’t it working?  
  
What happened?  
  
Wheels grinding in his head, he realized he couldn’t show Sasuke he had lost control.  
  
Suddenly behind him, Itachi latched onto the nape of Sasuke’s neck. He squeezed and dug purple painted nails in so tight that he gasped. Sasuke’s throat stung, and the white-hot rage roared in his veins. The world around them morphed in even darker greyscale, moonlight fully above them, into an open, plotted land.  
  
Itachi forced his head to the ground. Sasuke’s forehead bumped hard dirt. Eyes glazed, their parent’s names radiated in white on the dark, rectangular stone, rising towards the sky.  
  
“They’re dead. You have yourself to blame,” Itachi reminded, voice low, void of remorse. “You were too weak to protect them.”  
  
“I’m not!” Sasuke screamed, hoarse. But the resent and horror drowned out his ability to reason, and he shook his head violently. He wildly lashed out at the grave, and the pain radiated in his plams. He coughed. “It was you. I’ll kill you! Your blood will be on my – “  
  
“You’re too weak to protect yourself.” Soft breath fell from Itachi’s lips. The temptation to let him kill him right then was strong. He hated himself for it, but he didn’t want to stop this – he wanted to stay with Sasuke and touch him, do things he couldn’t describe.  
  
Sasuke sagged under him. He was right. He hadn’t realized he was close. For a while there had been an eerie feeling, but his brother was a master at genjutsu, and he had skipped the signs. He was a failure. There was no doubt.  
  
“You are a disappointment, my foolish little brother,” Itachi said. He snapped Sasuke’s head towards him. Sasuke limply let him do so, the pupils of his eyes constricted. “After all these years your chakra reserves matured. You endured training. But I’m beginning to wonder if you’ll ever become stronger and stand against me. Next time we meet, I hope you provide a little entertainment for me.”  
  
Yet again, Itachi willed the Tsukuyomi to disperse and fall apart. He normally didn’t go this far. The fear of it finally seized his chest and he pursed his lips. During the times he used genjutsu for prolonged use, his illusions had never overcome him. The power wavered, and moonlight smoldered like a fireball.  
  
Now he was genuinely worried.  
  
The ground rumbled. On instinct, Itachi planted his feet and his grip on Sasuke’s skin intensified. The area of uncharted land and stone expanded. Unmarked graves unleashed from the depths of cold, grainy soil in dozens, reaching towards the sky like their parents’.  
  
Sasuke spotted this after a delayed moment. So many people had died. The cold chill that he had experienced after seeing their bodies returned and etched goosebumps into his skin like slow pricks from a kunai. There had been blood – puddles and puddles iron and death, so much blood and wounds and flesh. Each one of them invoked a memory. He was dizzy, and his mind seared with torment again.  
  
Wisps of light emerged from under the graves. The disembodied spirits clawed at the area of the stones and soil, seeking release, their spiritual bodies trapped. They moaned, and screeched, and hurled curses. Crooked names began to mark the unblemished graves under the spirits’ insistent lashes for freedom – all slaughtered Uchiha, people they had known – and rows of them came into existence.  
  
Itachi closed his eyes. Showing their parents dying was one obstacle, but the images of their family at once was quite another.  
  
At this point Sasuke also, full of might, again pushed the barrier of the Tsukuyomi. There should be an error of chance that breaking through was a possibility. His hopes dropped though as nothing gave way. Although the he was overwhelmed, he should be the only one who could rival Itachi’s hold on him, but his willpower hadn’t so far made any dent. The harder he did so, the harder it was for him to move his body, struck by the waves of anger.  
  
The ghosts continued to shriek and reach out, transparent hands slithering to their feet.  
  
“It’s your fault that they’re suffering,” Itachi said. He yanked Sasuke by the shoulder, and he pushed him up towards the edge of their parents’ grave, bloodthirsty red eyes burning into his. His hand closed around his throat and Sasuke’s windpipe heaved for air under his palm. It hurt him to say this, but he didn’t know how else to make it look like he was the one doing it. “For that, you must pay.”  
  
The need once again worked its way in Itachi’s veins. It had been too long since he touched him and the desire was outright intoxicating. He should find another way out of the predicament, but the overbearing feelings sank their teeth into his inhibitions. He was equally horrified and intrigued.  
  
Sasuke’s legs widened in front of him, and his body felt heavier at the mercy of his brother’s unrelenting gaze. There was a dash in the red – flickers, hunger – and Sasuke quaked. He prayed for his hands or legs to move, but he was immobile, Itachi pinning him to the hard stone. The sharp edges dug into his back. And then he lost the motivation to move, eyes trained on his, too caught in the moment.  
  
Itachi’s fingertips brushed the front of Sasuke’s pants. Under him he threw his head back, thoroughly appalled and caught in the headiness of the moment, still distracted Itachi kept up his visual assault. The hand brushed up against the front of the rough fabric, and he panted and writhed under the deliberate strokes. His body thrummed with arousal and throes of intensity. Involuntarily, his legs vibrated on their own. Desperation and sensitivity welled up in his body; a galaxy of stars fell in front of his eyes as his body jerked under delicious friction of climax.  
  
No, he wouldn’t admit it. He would never admit . . . ever admit his brother made him feel such disgraceful things. Not after he –  
  
When Itachi noted his expression, he saw his face contorted, body wound, eyes glistening. It was oddly unreadable for him to decipher, but something released itself within Itachi’s mind, and he transfixed himself with the fact he had been his. It was ultimate selfishness at work. And yet he had been drawn to it; his brother’s satisfaction flushed across his face.  
  
“And you submit to me.”  
  
The wails around them increased. There was a precious time where there was nothing but sound and feeling and pleasure and pain that cut deep to the point nothing made sense. Sasuke’s pain was the repeated prowl of the stone into his skin as he arched and shame in the way he melted and suffocated and came undone. He coaxed him back to hardness each time his hand pumped and ravished him. Dazed, he muffled the euphoric rush and cries, breath hitching. He was feverish for more.  
  
And an eternity later, it ended.  
  
The grey and red around them began to swirl.  


* * *

  
The world of the illusion briskly shattered into fragments and disintegrated. The blood moon and blotched out grey washed into the cool of the autumn evening they had left behind.  
  
The branch under him creaked and rocked. Balance compromised, Itachi fell, crashing into the ground. Scratchy leaves poked his face and underside of his stomach. Wincing, he forced himself to his feet. The thick leaves under his sandals crunched and crinkled, and he staggered, out of it more than he liked to admit. He had never once been taken recoil, but the whole thing had been out of his realm of composure. He blocked out the nightmares. Itachi’s eyes smarted and prickled under the Tsukuyomi’s strained aftereffects, blurring.  
  
Then Sasuke’s whereabouts dawned on him.  
  
Glancing side to side, he searched for him. He looked down and caught sight of the dark cloak that stood out among the leaves. He took in Sasuke’s collapsed form. His head was lopsided, mouth agape, head perched atop a high pile of leaves. Sasuke was thoroughly unconscious, as expectations predicted.  
  
He had reservations. But this wasn’t the time. He was far from awake. Coming to his senses under such duress would be impossible, now.  
  
He dropped to the forest floor.  
  
Itachi wasn’t certain, himself. They had been in the Tsukuyomi for three days of time at the base minimum. It may have been five. Could it have escalated to seven? He didn’t know. He truly had lost track of the situation.  
  
He inched closer, and he knelt at Sasuke’s side, breath shallow. He sat. He didn’t know the last time he had been stunned, and he wasn’t keen on keeping it that way. His head spun and the shapes and sounds of the Tsukuyomi replayed in his memory.  
  
What should he do with him? Surely, Itachi couldn’t actually take him back with him?  
  
Sound blared in Sasuke’s ears. The blood rushed in his ears. Everything was out of focus. Prodding himself for information, he wondered where he was. Color and memory scattered before his judgment. There wasn’t much Sasuke pieced together; his thoughts were muddled and he didn’t dare tread on landmines he didn’t want to step on. The soreness frayed at the edges of his sanity.  
  
 “I. . . .”  
  
The leaves rustled under him, and Itachi jumped. At that moment his heart throbbed so loudly he swore a ghost did in fact fly at him. But when he calmed down, he realized Sasuke hadn’t quite fainted yet. Indecision rose up within him, and he shook his head.  
  
“Nii-san?” He had seen . . . Itachi? . . . where was he? Was he there? “Are you there?  
  
The one word broke him. It wasn’t the sound of the Sasuke who hated him. That was the wounded Sasuke that echoed in his childhood memories, the brother that had begged and pleaded for Itachi to take care of him.  
  
Warily, Itachi eyed him. Seconds ticked and he couldn’t handle the jitters that buzzed up and down his nerves. He shifted awkwardly. “Go back to sleep,” Itachi told him quietly.  
  
“I don’t. . . .” The nauseating pain rippled in his head again. Sasuke made a sour face. His hopes leapt, though. Itachi was there after all! “I have something . . . I need to do. It’s important. But it hurts . . . . hurts. . . .”  
  
Itachi’s head tilted to the side. He frowned, clenching his hands against his sides to keep himself from anything hasty. Sasuke was not fully there mentally, and he waged a short battle with himself about what or if he should say anything. Finally, he settled on the fact that he couldn’t remain a bystander.  
  
“You’re sick.” Itachi hand pressed against the flat of Sasuke’s forehead. His skin was hot, as though he indeed had a fever. But that wasn’t his first thought on Itachi’s mind. Touching him his body out of worry was the first gentle physical contact he had given him since he was a child. Itachi’s body ached in a way the Tsukuyomi hadn’t been able to force upon him. “I’m. . . . ” The betrayal of wanting to use his first name again cut deep, and he squeezed his eyes shut, air gathering in his lungs to the point he wanted to burst. His eyes burned still. “I’m not going to work. I’m going to take care of you. Your big brother is going to take care of you today, Sasuke.”  
  
Sasuke’s hold on the black Akatsuki cloak’s sleeve was surprisingly fierce. He didn’t want him to magically disappear again. “You won’t leave? You promise you won’t leave me?”  
  
Itachi looked away. He could deal with the Tsukuyomi’s trauma, but this was another hell built specifically from his own actions. “No,” he assured. “I won’t leave you.”  
  
“Nii-san.” Sasuke smiled a fraction, and he looped an arm around Itachi’s outstretched one. It was rare when he stayed home! It must be a special day, and there were many things he wanted to do with his brother, even if he was sick. He was warm – Itachi was warm, too, so he must be in bed. “Okay . . . okay, I believe you. That makes me – ”  
  
Before finishing his sentence, Sasuke simply sighed, ragged. He slumped against him.  
  
Blankly, Itachi stared at him. After a solid ten minutes his heartbeat didn’t calm down. For once, he deactivated the Sharingan, the real world descending into pitch blackness under a white moon. The raw burn of the Sharingan faded, at rest. Small crickets chirped, and owls hooted in the distance. Itachi tried to settle his attention on anything outside of his chaotic thoughts, but the only thing he heard Sasuke’s irregular breathing, body affected despite the fact that his brain shut down.  
  
The entire thing set alarm bells in his heart. He had always been careful about putting up the act. Logically, though, it wasn’t worth the trouble. Later, Sasuke was not likely to recall the exchange in his delirious state. He may even consider it a forgotten memory.  
  
Whatever happened, he would find a medic nin who would take him before he departed with Kisame. It was risky on its own, but he would work out the details at that point.  
  
In reality, he was not the one who should reverse the psychological damage. However, they were not near Konoha, and the only one who could heal him besides himself that he knew of, and he would start the process in the meantime. In the morning, he would decide on a further course of action.  
  
Even a medic nin’s care wasn’t quite the same as a brother’s attention to his little brother.  
  
Carefully, Itachi propped his brother up, leaning him on his side. He combed a hand through his spiky hair, pushing the strands out of his face, guilty yet unable to contain the urge. He rested his forehead against Sasuke’s, giving him that bit of comfort.


End file.
